


footprints in the sand

by luvsanime02



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Post-Series, Pre-Endless Waltz, Summer of Zechs 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02
Summary: What does one do after becoming a ghost? That's what Zechs must now figure out.





	footprints in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer of Zechs 2017. Prompts used were green and freedom.

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Gundam Wing, and am making no money off of this fic.

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 **footprints in the sand** by luvsanime02

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He inhales the scents of brine and clean sand.

While the location is unfamiliar, this smell isn’t something that he can ever forget. Sanc Kingdom borders the ocean, and these similar scents associated with the beach are the strongest memories he has of his childhood that aren’t smoke and heat and screams.

Standing here with his toes buried in the wet sand, he breathes in as deeply as he can with his ribs still healing. He’d complain about the pain, but considering the last few weeks, this is nothing. At least now he’s finally able to move about on his own, and that means he can leave the Sweepers behind and set out on his own.

Not that he’s ungrateful to Howard and his men for saving his life. Far from it. However turbulent his thoughts are right now, he has no personal interest in actually dying. Enough people have died lately.

Even this errant thought is enough to make him cringe, and he tries to shy away from the overwhelming memories of Treize, his oldest and dearest friend. He never imagined things would turn out this way, really. Had always assumed that both of them would die before the fighting was over - perhaps by each other’s hands, even. Now Treize is gone but he’s still here, standing on the shore of a beautiful, deep green ocean and contemplating what he should do with his life.

He’s never had a choice before, not really. Always, dreams of revenge drove him along certain paths. That, or protection. But Relena’s safe now, and he’s done what he can to help restore their family’s kingdom, and now…

Now, he finally feels free. No more being the lost prince. No more being the faithful and reliable soldier. It’s a taste of true freedom for the first time in his life, and he has no idea what to do with it. Or who he is now that he’s not a soldier anymore. He’s been a fighter even longer than he was the royal heir of a pacifist kingdom.

He’s still Relena’s older brother, though. That will never change, he resolves. She doesn’t need him right now, though. No one does. The truth of this statement is actually sort of terrifying.

Finally tired of standing, he carefully sits down, not caring that the tide is slowly coming in and he’s submerging himself in an inch or so of water. It feels wonderful, and it’s not as though he currently has to care about his image. Even as he thinks this, he can almost hear Treize’s voice in his ear making sarcastic remarks about him sitting here in the wet sand like a beached sea urchin. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, and he clasps tight handfuls of sand and water, only for it all to slip out of his grasp when the tide ebbs again.

These echoes of his friend hurt, but he can’t bring himself to push the memories away. He doesn’t even want to, though he knows Treize would scold him for sitting here like this. Tell him that he’s being maudlin for no reason, and remind him of his purposes, his goals.

He doesn’t have any goals right now, though. Nothing to do but sit here in the sand, and so he does. The water is delightfully cool, and there’s a breeze ruffling through his hair. All the sand and salt will be a nightmare to wash out later.

Maybe he should cut it. Almost at once, he dismisses the idea. Plenty of soldiers made disparaging comments about his hair over the years, either to his back or, if they were particularly brave and stupid, to his face. He always kept it long out of spite, even though it made him look more like his father with every passing year. Now he finds that he doesn’t want to part with it.

Strange, to think that he doesn’t mind looking so similar to Marticus Peacecraft any longer. That’s something, he supposes.

He has all the time in the world now, doesn’t he? And no idea what to do with it. A chuckle escapes him before he can help it. He’s sitting on a random beach in the Bahamas, recovering but still injured from his last battle against Heero Yuy, staring at the beautiful green waves slowly creeping up his legs, and he can’t stop laughing. Oh well, it’s not like there’s anyone else around to watch him lose his composure like this.

What does one do with freedom? When they no longer have any expectations or obligations, and have no current plans, short or long-term.

He supposes, first of all, that they quit sitting here in some wet sand and feeling sorry for themselves. With a soft sigh, he stands up again and starts walking purposely along the shoreline. Behind him, his footprints disappear with each and every new wave that breaks up over the sand, but that’s fine. He’ll just make some more. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, but that’s fine too. He’ll figure that out as he goes.

And perhaps that’s the most freeing thought of all.


End file.
